


One Night

by molly2012



Category: Borgen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, POV Second Person, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molly2012/pseuds/molly2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"An image flashes into your mind of piercing blue eyes.....but you quickly learned, for your own sake, to push the attraction away". You had no idea that everything could change in one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is less of a Borgen fic, and more of an experiment with the writing style - and a bit of shameless PWP - using the character of Birgitte Nyborg. Set sometime after the end of season 3, so there are some spoilers if you haven't seen it. I'd love any feedback on this, so if you like it - or not - please let me know! Multi-chapter, but it's pretty much all written. Any mistakes are entirely my own, but please remember it's AU!

You stand outside the door, and take a deep breath. It's getting late, and the autumn sun has long since disappeared to leave a drizzly, damp darkness. The glow of the street lamps reflects off the wet sheen of the pavement, casting a slightly eerie glow over the street and you shiver a little, tucking your hands into your pockets as you think how cold it is for the time of year. Unsurprisingly, there are few people still out and about. Lights glow from behind curtains and through blinds, indicating that most people are home in this residential area of Copenhagen, and the house that you stand in front of is no exception.  You think that if you knock, you will probably be welcomed in. Your problem is getting up the courage to knock in the first place. 

You raise your hand, and then drop it again. You never really intended to end up here, but your own apartment had seemed achingly empty and it was entirely your own fault. You had turned everything down for this evening, saying no to every invitation and even refusing to stay late at work so that you could get some things straight at home. Tidy up, cook yourself a meal and actually eat it. Watch some TV. Get some sleep. But after a hour of cleaning, tidying, and ironing, the silence of your apartment had started to get to you. Rather than being exactly what you needed, you had begun to feel like the loneliness was closing in on you, and you made the snap decision to get out for a couple of hours. Without even bothering to change out of baggy sweatpants and tank top, you grabbed a sweatshirt and your cell phone and headed out. And rather than head for the nearest bar, you started running. It has been too long since you went for a proper run, and you soon lost yourself in the rhythm of your feet pounding the streets and the steady, hard pulse of your breathing. You hadn't thought about where you were going, or where your subconscious might be leading you.  

And you've ended up here. 

Deep down, you know why. You might be many things, but an idiot is not one of them. An image flashes into your mind of piercing blue eyes, twinkling with laughter at some joke, or flashing with anger across the debating table at an opponent. It was those eyes that caught you the very first time you saw them, even before you knew the full extent of the intellect that lay behind them, the smooth tongue and the quick wit - and you've been on the receiving end of all three, several times. It's given you a deep respect for the woman whose house this is, on both a professional and a personal level. But you quickly learned, for your own sake, to push the attraction away. 

Raising your hand again before you can change your mind, you ring the bell, and wait. 

You aren't waiting for long. 

'Hi!'

Birgitte Nyborg's smile is wide, welcoming, but not particularly surprised. As she steps back to allow you to enter the hallway, you find yourself wondering if Birgitte is used to her party workers turning up unannounced and in their workout clothes, or whether it's just her years as a politician that means she can hide her reactions well. Either way is fine by you. 

That doesn't mean that you can't try and explain. 

'I was out for a run, and ended up in your neighbourhood.....'

'Sure, come in'. Those blue eyes look tired, but the sparkle from her smile is still there. 'Drink?'

'Okay, thanks'. 

As you follow the older woman through to the kitchen, you are suddenly conscious of two things. Firstly, that you've never asked to make sure that you aren't interrupting anything. And secondly......your clothes. Birgitte is wearing blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, tucked in neatly and secured with a stylish leather belt. Her dark hair is loose, waving around her shoulders, but perfectly styled as usual. For Birgitte, all that counts as relaxed and casual, but it makes you horribly aware of your own rain-spattered sweatpants and baggy jumper. It also reminds you that you've been running, and probably look like a sweaty mess. Still, there's nothing you can do about that now. 

But you can at least make sure that Birgitte hadn't been in the middle of anything when you arrived. 

'I'm sorry, this wasn't really planned, I......' You pause in the doorway, watching as Birgitte walks around the side of the kitchen island to get a glass from a cupboard. 'Are you sure you don't mind?'

'Of course not'. Birgitte doesn't ask whether you would prefer a soft drink, or a coffee, but pours a generous glass of wine from an open bottle and holds it out for you. 'Laura and Magnus are at Philip's. You've saved me from a pile of housework and terrible TV'. 

But, as you accept the glass and look around, you can't see any evidence that Birgitte had been doing housework. The living area of the kitchen is still cluttered with the paraphernalia of two teenage children - or is Magnus that old yet? You can't remember - and a laptop is open on the kitchen table, surrounded by papers. The beginnings of a cheese sandwich are laid out on a wooden chopping board, and you feel suddenly awkward. Birgitte had been working. She had been about to make herself something to eat. And now you've interrupted her. 

'Really?' You make light of it as you gesture around the kitchen. It's a family kitchen, but the appliances are new, shiny - so unlike your own. 'That looks more like an economics briefing than the hoover to me'.

Birgitte grimaces, and picks up her own glass as she leans against the counter. 

'Green energy. And then the hoovering'. 

She pauses, looking at the laptop, and suddenly you can see the faint lines on her face. Mostly laughter lines, a few crinkles around the eyes, but there nonetheless. And the urge to reach out and smooth them gently away with your fingers is almost too much to ignore. 

Almost. 

'Forming a new political party.....' You stop. You were about to say 'was never going to be easy', but realise just in time how patronising that sounds. Especially when you're talking to the former prime minister. 

Birgitte smirks as she takes a mouthful of wine. 

'Is that the closest it gets to 'I told you so'?'

You laugh. It's true that Birgitte's return to politics earlier in the year had raised several eyebrows, including yours. The announcement that she was planning on forming a new political party had actually made you question her sanity. But, despite that, you still said yes when she asked you to leave your job - your steady, well-paid, respectable job - to work for her. With her. You had needed a change. And besides, the chance to work so closely with Birgitte Nyborg was not something that you would pass up without a damn good reason. 

But even you - capable, and confident, and the best in your field  - had struggled in the early days of the New Democrats. Everyone had. And not once, not even when it all looked as if it was going horribly wrong, had anyone ever said 'I told you so'. 

You're certainly not going to be the first. 

'Yep. That's as close as I get'. You raise your glass. 'To the New Democrats'. 

Birgitte chuckles, a warm, throaty sound that warms you all the way down to your toes. 

'The New Democrats'. 

The echo hangs between you in the kitchen, and you shift a little on your feet as you surreptitiously look around you. You've been here before, of course - usually to deliver some paperwork, or to brief Birgitte about something that couldn't wait - but tonight it feels different. Maybe, you think, it's because the kids aren't there. Tonight, the house is Birgitte's, and, despite the reasonably smart clothes, Birgitte seems different as well. More relaxed. Less guarded. 

And despite your earlier awkwardness, it's beginning to make you more relaxed as well. 

'Take a seat, if you can find one'. 

You are startled out of your reverie by Birgitte gesturing towards the sofa. 'Would you like to share a takeaway or something? I was going to make some sandwiches, but....' She turns her nose up at the chopping board. 'Chinese sounds like a far better idea, especially after this'. She holds up her glass and grins at you. It makes her nose crinkle, and you can't help but grin back. 

'I....' You hesitate for the briefest of moments. You haven't eaten and, now that you think about it, you are hungry. Somehow, you get the sense that Birgitte knows that. But you still have to think about getting home later, and you won't be doing much running after a Chinese takeaway and half a bottle of red wine. 

A taxi it will be, then. 

'Yeah, why not. That sounds good'. 

While Birgitte phones the food order through - it sounds like she's a regular - you shift some things on the sofa in order to sit down. A couple of teenage fashion magazines, obviously Laura's, and the controls for the Play Station. It looks as if Magnus has been playing Pirate Warriors, and you smile, making a mental note to tease Birgitte later and ask if she has ever played it with him. 

You wonder if the joking response that you know you'll get will come from the professional politician, or the private woman. Birgitte has a talent for making people think that they're getting the latter, when really they're getting the former. It's what makes her so good. It's what made the voters, particularly women, love her when she was in office. But it also makes it incredibly difficult to get close, and, to your knowledge, not many people manage it. 

You aren't particularly shocked, or surprised, to realise that you want to be one of them. 

'It shouldn't be long'. Birgitte replaces the phone in its cradle, and walks over to the sofa where she smiles in appreciation at your efforts to make some space. 'Sorry about the mess'. 

'It's okay'. You think about your own apartment, where, before your cleaning spree earlier, things had covered almost every spare surface. Clothes, papers, books, mugs, plates. 'Mine's far worse. Whenever I have time to tidy up, it's usually the last thing I want to do'. 

Birgitte laughs and sits down on the opposite end of the sofa, curling her legs underneath her. 'If people had seen the state of my place, I would never have been elected at all'. 

'You would'. You say it without thinking, but Birgitte just smiles and sips her wine. 

As you do the same - you aren't usually that bothered about wine, but this is good - you sense Birgitte glancing at you appraisingly over her glass. It's as if she knows why you ended up coming here, and is judging what to say. How to say it. How far to take it. 

But that, you think, is impossible. 

She's probably just curious, that's all. Curious as to why you decided to go running late at night in the dark and the drizzle, and curious as to why you ended up here. And you wouldn't blame her. But since it's something that you can't explain - at least, not without explaining a whole lot of other things as well - you keep quiet for a moment and let Birgitte look. 

It isn't an unpleasant feeling. 

************

Birgitte, however, isn't curious. She knows fine well why you felt the need to go running on a wet September evening, and she knows why you ended up running to her house. Even before tonight, even before she opened the door to see you standing there, she knew. She's seen the pride and respect on your face when an interview or a debate goes well - pride and respect that goes beyond the call of duty. She's seen the glances at work, glances that you only risk when you think she's concentrating on something else, and she's seen them become more frequent. She has also seen the faint hint of desire and longing in them that you probably didn't even know was there. 

She's done some glancing of her own - the only difference being that she's been slightly more careful about it, since she knows all too well what the consequences could be. Far worse than her have been brought down by far less. But tonight, she finds she doesn't really care anymore. She always enjoys your company when you work together, and although she would never admit it to anyone - especially not to herself - she's lonely. And seeing you on her doorstep has brought everything bubbling to the surface, everything that she had so carefully hidden away. 

She just needs to make sure, absolutely sure, that you want the same. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

You talk as you wait for the meal to arrive - an easy, natural conversation that could so easily have been stilted or awkward. Mostly it's about work, and you're surprised at how relaxed you feel. Despite the topic, this is a different Birgitte to the woman that you're used to seeing every day. She seems warmer, somehow, and you don't think it's an act. The smile is spontaneous, the laughter infectious. There's nothing practiced or planned. The sense that she knows exactly how you feel about her stays with you, but you find that her glances don't bother you, or make you feel uncomfortable. 

Maybe it's the wine. 

You have no idea how long it is before the doorbell rings. Fifteen minutes, twenty, thirty. It interrupts Birgitte mid-flow, but she stands up almost immediately and you realise that you will have to wait to hear about Bent's view on the social integration policy another time. As she disappears down the hallway, you lean back into the soft cushions of the sofa and close your eyes for a second. You hear the front door opening, hear the rustle of bags and cheerful thanks, and know that she will be back in a minute or so....but still, you don't open your eyes. It's warm in the room, and you still have your sweatshirt on. The lighting is soft and gentle behind your closed eyelids, and the only thing stopping you from falling asleep is the grumbling of your stomach as the smell of Chinese food wafts up the hallway in front of Birgitte. 

'Here we go'. 

You open your eyes, slightly embarrassed to have been caught making yourself so at home, but she doesn't seem to notice. She walks past the sofa, towards the kitchen table so that she can deposit the carrier bag on a corner that isn't covered by paperwork, and you stand up to help. As you follow her directions to plates and knives and forks, she lays out the cartons on top of the papers, and inspects each one as if she can't remember exactly what she ordered. 

'This one's you....you again....seaweed for me.....'

'Seaweed?'

You can't help the grimace as you turn from the cupboard, two plates in one hand and spoons in the other, and move back over to the table. 

'It goes well with the crispy duck'. 

'If you say so'. 

She laughs as she peels the paper top from the carton, and jabs a fork into the mass of dark green. 

'Here, try it'. 

She holds it out for you, like a mother would to a child reluctant to eat their greens, and you half expect her to try and bribe you with ice cream later. But you can't take it from her without dropping the plates, and so you lean over, taking the seaweed off the fork with your mouth. It's not as bad as you thought it would be - fairly tasteless and a bit crunchy, but light. You feel those blue eyes on you, twinkling with a mixture of amusement and something else that you can't quite put your finger on, and you swallow, trying to ignore the sensation that the look sparks within you.

Seaweed. 

Suddenly, you feel slightly hysterical. 

'Not bad'. You shrug as you put down the plates, moving a folder to make room and trying to cover your reaction. 'Not great, either. It's all yours'. 

'It's meant to be good for you'. She looks ruefully down and plucks at the belt on her jeans. 'And apparently it helps with losing weight'. 

You raise your eyebrows, unable to stop your eyes moving up and down her body. You can't see that she needs to lose any, and you're just about to say so when she holds up one finger. 

'And don't tell me I don't need to. These jeans say otherwise'. 

You bite back your instinctive reply - that the jeans look fantastic and that a lot of women would kill for a figure like hers - and instead point to the carton with 'CD' written on the lid in black felt tip pen. 

'Does crispy duck do the same?'

'Crispy duck makes the seaweed edible'. 

Birgitte begins to open the other cartons, releasing the full aroma of rice, and spring rolls, and meat, and vegetables. It makes your stomach growl even harder, and, without thinking, you reach over her to grab a bit. You don't look at what you dip your fingers into, but it's wonderful - spicy, still piping hot, and the sauce is just sticky enough to leave a dark smear on your fingers. A small moan of satisfaction escapes you. You haven't had Chinese for ages, and this is really, really good. 

Birgitte smirks. 

'You must be hungry'.

You can feel a faint blush on your cheeks that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room or the wine, and you shrug. Licking your fingers clean is out of the question now, so you escape the immediate awkwardness by going over to the sink and rinsing your hands under the hot tap. And as you turn around to look for a tea towel, Birgitte is right there, holding one out to you.

'Thanks'. You take it from her and begin to dry your hands, but you freeze as you feel her thumb gently, lightly, wiping away a tiny smear from the corner of your mouth. You didn't see it coming, and it's gone as just as quickly as she smiles and turns away, back to the plates on the table. 

The tingling sensation it leaves behind is the only proof that you didn't imagine it. 

 ********

Gradually, the atmosphere between you changes. 

You eat on the sofa, since neither of you can be bothered to properly clear the papers and the laptop that still cover most of the table. Birgitte pours you both another glass of wine and you settle down, plates on laps and glasses safely on the coffee table in front of you. You talk as you eat, just like you did before, but there's something different. She sits closer to you, close enough that you can smell the soft scent of her perfume, and feel her warmth when she reaches over to pick up her wine. Once or twice, she brushes against you, so lightly that you genuinely aren't sure if she meant to or not, and it sends warm shivers all the way down your spine. And party politics no longer dominate the conversation. Instead, you find yourself talking about more personal things, and answering questions that are so delicately phrased that you don't even realise she's asking them. By the time you've finished your meal, you're fairly sure that you've told Birgitte your entire life story without meaning to....but she makes it so easy. So easy to talk about things you've never mentioned to anyone before, so easy to forget that she's actually your boss and that, whatever happens, you'll still have to face her in the morning. The feeling of intimacy that this gives is so subtle that you wonder if you're imagining it. It thrills you and terrifies you at the same time, and you wonder, briefly, whether she feels the same. 

You still doubt it. But, just for a moment, you allow yourself to dream. 

'Do you mind if I put some music on?'

The question makes you start out of your reverie, and you realise that during the lull in the conversation, Birgitte has stood up and is collecting the plates. You're not really sure why she is asking you, and you find that you're surprised since, for some reason, you've never thought that listening to music would be something that Birgitte enjoys. You're even more surprised when, after she has fiddled with the iPod settings for a moment, you hear a familiar song flowing from the speakers. 

You certainly never thought that she would like this. 

You know the lyrics off by heart and, as you get up and move into the kitchen area to give Birgitte a hand, you can't help swaying a little to the gentle beat. But you only realise that you're quietly singing along as well when Birgitte smiles over at you. 

'You have a lovely voice'. 

'Sorry'. You blush, hot with embarrassment, and pretend to busy yourself with the plates. You're standing at the counter, face to the wall, and so you hope she can't see that your hands are suddenly shaking. A compliment from Birgitte can make you dizzy at the best of times. Now, mixed with wine and the discomfiture you feel at actually singing in the first place, it's having an even worse effect than usual. 

'Don't be'. 

Her voice is soft, and somehow, without you realising, she has moved to stand behind you. Her hand is resting on your hip, so lightly that you hadn't realised she had put it there, but now you can feel it and you swallow, closing your eyes briefly to try and get a grip. You're definitely not imagining it this time. The urge to turn around and touch her, to run fingers through her hair and over her face, to feel the skin that you know will be as soft and as smooth as it looks....it's almost too much, and you have to stand there for a moment, breathing in and out, in and out. And then, despite everything, you suddenly have the urge to run. You've been so careful about avoiding this for so long - for your sake and for hers. Letting it go so quickly is terrifying. 

As you finally turn around, hoping that you've got things back under control, her hand doesn't move away. She simply slips it around your back as you turned, and it's now resting on your other hip, making that side tingle with pleasure as well. You try and ignore it, but it's hard. And you suddenly realise that without heels, Birgitte is the same height as you. You always thought she was taller, but now you're looking straight into those blue eyes, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. You know she notices, but you don't really care. You've never been much good at hiding things, and you know that your turmoil is probably plastered all over your face, but you don't care about that either. All you can think of are her eyes, fixed on yours, holding yours in a gaze that you can't break. 

'I should go, it's getting late'. 

You speak the words, but it sounds nothing like you - at least, not to your ears. And you're not sure you really mean it. Part of you still wants to leave as fast as possible, and the other part is unsure. You don't really know what you want, or what to do, and Birgitte can tell. But when she offers you a choice, you know what she would prefer you to do. 

Deep down, you know what you would prefer as well.  

'Stay. If you like'. 

She moves away slightly, dropping her hand as if she doesn't want to pressure you, doesn't want her touch to be a deciding factor. 

'You can have Laura's room. Or Magnus's....but I wouldn't recommend that, personally'. 

You smile, and feel the charged atmosphere begin to lighten a little. You still aren't sure it's a good idea. You could get a taxi, or even ask Birgitte to call her car and driver to run you home - a slightly improper use of state resources, but you know it's been done before. And besides, you don't have anything with you, and you really need a shower and a change of clothes, if not now then certainly in the morning. Tomorrow is a working day. You can't exactly turn up in sweaty running gear. 

But all of that can be sorted in the morning. 

'Are you sure?'

 ***********

Birgitte considers the question before nodding, slowly. She is sure, more sure than she has been about anything for a long time. She really doesn't want you to go, but she doesn't want to pressure you into staying either. She knows what will happen if you do. She has every intention of initiating it. But she wants it to be because you want to. 

And so she nods, and waits, and watches you, looking carefully at your reaction, seeing the battle going on in your head between what you should do and what you want to do. She's careful not to let her own trepidation show. If you turn her down, she'll deal with it later in her own way, like she always has done. She won't take it out on you....and she thinks that you know that. In many ways, she would completely understand. 

But still, she can't help the warm smile of excitement, warmth, and above all, relief, when she finally sees you nod. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Standing still under the stream of water, you let the hot needles massage your back as the steam builds around you. The scent of Birgitte's shampoo fills the bathroom, and you inhale deeply as you close your eyes and tilt your head backwards. It feels rich, luxurious, and the faint floral fragrance envelopes you as you run your fingers over your head and through the ends of your hair. Birgitte left it out for you to use, along with a shower gel that looks just as gorgeous, and there's a clean towel waiting for you on the rail next to the shower. But for the moment, you don't even want to think about getting out. You still aren't sure that staying here is a good idea, and the combination of nerves and excitement and pure, unadulterated terror - all of which are probably without foundation - are still making you shaky. You know what Birgitte wants, at least for tonight. You know what you want. But you aren't really sure what she expects of you, since you haven't done this before. Not with a woman. You've never been so unsure of yourself, and you can't help the feeling of disbelief that clouds your mind whenever you stop for a second and think about it. You've wanted her for so long, but it never crossed your mind that she might have wanted you too. It feels like your first time all over again. In a way, it is - and it terrifies you. It's far easier just to stay in the shower than to get out and confront it. 

Tempting as the prospect is, though, you can't stay in there forever. Hair washed and body scrubbed, you finally turn off the water and step out into the steam, wrapping the soft towel around you and taking care not to drip too much on the wooden floor. Birgitte has gone through the motions of vetting Laura's room for you, declaring it fit for human habitation - her words, not yours - and you're grateful for the gesture. You know that she meant it to reassure you, to let you know that you have another option if you want one, and it does help. As you dry yourself off, you're just starting to wonder about the practical side of things - most importantly, what to put on now, since you can't see a bathrobe - when a knock at the door makes you jump. 

'Are you okay in there?'

'Fine, thanks. Sorry, I won't be long'. 

'No, don't rush.....are you decent?'

You gulp. Does a towel count as a decent enough cover?

'Yes'. You never locked the door, and Birgitte pokes her head around it before opening it wider and coming into the room. You can't help a little smile. It's as if she was checking that you weren't lying about being covered up, and it occurs to you that she is treading carefully too. 

It's quite a comforting thought. 

'I found you a nightshirt'. She hands you a pale blue flannel shirt, letting her hand brush yours as you take it from her. Thanking her, you feel her eyes move discreetly down, over the swell of the tops of your breasts above the towel, and you feel your heart beat a little faster. You look good. You know you do. But it's been a long time since anyone else openly appreciated it. 

'Do you need anything else? There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet'. 

'No, that's great'. As she turns to leave, you reach out and touch her arm, stopping her in her tracks. You aren't sure why, but suddenly you feel the need to say something, anything, just to let her know that you do want this. You're just scared.  

'Birgitte, I.....' You pause, dropping your arm. You can hear the music still playing the kitchen, and you think you can distinguish a slightly faster, sexier beat. Or maybe it's just your imagination. With Birgitte's eyes on you, you forget what you had been going to say. You're no longer sure that you knew in the first place. 

Maybe there wasn't actually any need to say anything. 

 **********

When Birgitte stops at your touch, it's because she knows why you've reached out. Part of her had been hoping that you would. And when she reaches over and places one finger over your mouth, it isn't necessarily with the intention of keeping you quiet - she can tell that you don't know what to say anyway. It's because she wants to feel your lips. She wants to kiss you, but she's seen your nerves. And so she gently rests her finger on your mouth, trailing it along your lips and letting her breath catch in her throat at how good it feels.

She's wanted to do that for a long time. 

Slowly moving her hand to cup your jaw, she runs her thumb along your cheekbone. She sees, with a twinge of satisfaction, how your eyes darken, and how you have to concentrate on breathing steadily. You're clutching the top of the towel tightly, along with the nightshirt, and she has to resist the urge to take hold of one of your hands and loosen your grip. She wants you to relax, to let go, to not think.....but she knows how hard that will be. 

She'll go slowly for as long as it takes.  

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

You don't know how long you stand there, towel and nightshirt clutched tightly to your chest, letting Birgitte's touch work its magic. And that's what it is, you think - pure, gentle, sexy magic. She's only resting her hand on your cheek, and yet it feels like every nerve ending in your body is on alert. You wonder if she can sense your heart beating faster than it should be, and if she knows the kind of sensations that are beginning to ripple through your body. You want more. Much more. Every cell seems to be crying out for more. And yet you're still too tense, and too shy, to move.   
  
'Do you want me to kiss you?'  
  
Her voice is soft, slightly husky, and you aren't sure if it's that or the question she asks that makes you melt a little inside. No one's ever asked you that before. No one's ever bothered to check.   
  
'Yes'.   
  
It comes out as a whisper, and she moves closer to you, still going slowly, still giving you plenty of time to back away if you want to. But you don't. If anything, you want her closer. You feel the sleeve of her shirt brush against your bare shoulder as she moves her other hand up to fully cup your face. It's a light touch, but it holds you there. And it makes you look at her. You can't escape from her eyes searching yours, and you can't miss the spark of desire that sends a warm sensation shooting straight down through your stomach.   
  
'So beautiful', she murmurs, and you finally close your eyes as you feel her lips brush yours once, twice, three times. They're feather-light kisses that leave you almost gasping for more and, when she pulls back slightly for a couple of seconds to check your reaction, you have to bite back a moan. Your lips are tingling and you're trembling. You want her to kiss you again. In fact, you don't want her to stop.   
  
You feel her hands press a little harder on your cheeks, holding you tighter now that she's sure you don't want to go anywhere. You lean into the touch, encouraging it, loving the feeling of her thumbs stroking your cheekbones before her lips meet yours again. She's stronger this time, the softness of her lips only making the passion seem more intense and, when you feel her gently probing, you willingly let her deepen the kiss. Her tongue is light, teasing, and you shudder with pleasure as you involuntarily think of it elsewhere on your body. Birgitte must have felt it, must have guessed what you were thinking and, as one hand leaves your face to tangle in your damp hair, you feel a small moan escape the back of her throat. It's the sexiest sound you think you've ever heard. Still trembling, your whole body now beginning to buzz with need, you want to press yourself against her, to feel her body against yours and to let her hold you up, because you aren't sure how much longer you can go without sinking to the floor. But you can't move any closer. Your hands are still holding the towel at your chest, and you're still self-conscious and unsure enough not to want to let it go.   
  
Your tiny, frustrated whimper is enough to make Birgitte slowly pull back, far enough so that she can look at you. Her breathing sounds just as hard and ragged as yours and, when you finally open your eyes, you see her blue eyes are dark and glazed. The thought that it's all for you - that you've done that with one kiss - makes you slightly dizzy, and it also chips away, just a little, at the self-doubt that's holding you back. You already miss the feel of her lips on yours, and you want more. So much more. But before you can even think of getting up the courage to act on it, she lets her hands drop gradually away, her fingers trailing down your face and your shoulders before she takes another small step backwards. You can see how hard it is for her, but you also know that she wants to give you some space. You know she doesn't want to push you, or go too fast for you.   
  
'I'll let you get changed'.   
  
You blink. Birgitte gestures to the nightshirt, still clutched in your hands, and moves away towards the door. You don't want her to go, but this time you don't reach out because you know she's right. You can't stay in a wet towel all night. And when you hear the soft click of the door shutting behind her, you're unable to stop your knees from giving way. You sink down onto the floor, your back against the shower and your whole body shaking. Whether it's from irrational fear, or arousal, or cold - the hot steam from the shower has started to disperse - you can't tell. It doesn't really matter. You just need the time to breathe and to get yourself together.  
  
You don't think a kiss has ever made you feel this way before, and you can't help wondering whether Birgitte is having the same reaction.   
  
The look on her face as she left the bathroom makes you think that maybe, just maybe, she is.   
  
  
*******  
  
Back in the kitchen, Birgitte stands by the sink and, with a shaking hand, pours herself another splash of wine. What she really wants is a cigarette, but she doesn't dare. She gave up a long time ago, but there's still a packet tucked in the back of one of the cupboards, for use in dire emergencies only. Somehow, she doesn't think that sexual frustration and emotional turmoil -both self inflicted - count as a dire emergency. And so she pours the alcohol, and takes a mouthful before putting the glass down and gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turn the same white as her shirt.   
  
She never thought that a kiss could make her come apart like this.   
  
She wants you so badly it scares her. Her whole body feels like it's throbbing, and she can't believe how good you felt against her. She has thought so often about what it might be like to touch you, to kiss you. But, until that moment in the bathroom when she felt you shudder under her touch, she has never let herself think about what it might be like to have you completely......and she wasn't ready for the sudden, intense desire to possess you, to take you over, to take control and make you hers in the most intimate way. It shocked her but, at the same time, it turned her on more than she ever thought possible. And it took every ounce of willpower that she could find to back away, to give you space, and to let you come to her.   
  
She thinks that you will, and she's right. 


	5. Chapter 5

You enter the kitchen about twenty minutes later to see Birgitte standing by the counter, her back to you and her hands resting on the edge of the surface. She turns around when she hears your footsteps, and you pause for a moment to let your eyes wander over her. She's rolled up her sleeves, perhaps to do some clearing up, and you take in the smooth, creamy skin of her arms, the swell of her breasts underneath the shirt, the dip at the base of her throat where her collarbone ends and where you suddenly have the urge to kiss. You know that it's obvious, but you want it to be.   
  
You want her to know that you want her.   
  
She doesn't say anything, and you move further into the room. The nightshirt is slightly big on you - in fact, you wonder whether it was originally a man's shirt - but it looks good, and you see her following the contours of your body under the thin material. Perching on the edge of the kitchen table so that you can face her, you rest your feet on a chair and your elbows on your knees. It makes the shirt ride up a little, and you know that she's looking. Just having her eyes on you is enough to make your heart beat faster again. You're shocked at how aroused you are, how needy you feel, how badly you want her to take control of this, and of you. But you need her to know one thing.   
  
'I've never done this before'.   
  
Birgitte looks at you for a moment - a long, tortuous moment - and then smiles. It's a warm smile, intimate and knowing and ever so slightly mocking, and you realise that she knows already.   
  
'What, kissed a former prime minister?'  
  
She's playing with you, gently teasing you, but not in the way that you had expected and you chuckle in relief. Somehow, rather than making you feel bad about it, it makes it seem like it doesn't matter, that she can joke about it because it's not important, and that helps. A lot.   
  
'Unless you count Hesselboe....no. I guess not'.   
  
Her eyes widen slightly before she catches the twinkle in your eyes, and the sudden giggle that escapes her is so infectious that you feel the corners of your own mouth twitching.   
  
'Please tell me you're joking'.   
  
You raise your eyebrows. The idea of you doing anything with Birgitte's predecessor, even getting a coffee, is so ridiculous that you don't even nod to say that yes, you were joking.....but she knows that perfectly well, anyway. As her laughter dies away, she pushes herself away from the counter and moves towards you, her eyes indicating the chair that your feet are resting on. You know what she's going to do. You're ready when she moves it to one side so that she can get closer to you, and you shift back a little on the table so that you don't lose your balance. Your heart begins to pound as she reaches out with one hand to gently take hold of your chin, the look on her face serious, all traces of teasing and joking gone.   
  
'Is it really bothering you?'  
  
You take a deep breath. 'What, the bit where we mix work and sex? The bit where you're the ex-PM? Or the bit where I don't really know what I'm doing?'  
  
'All. Any'.   
  
'All'. You pause. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but stronger than earlier. Strong enough to be honest. 'Mostly the last one'.   
  
Birgitte looks at you for a moment, and then shakes her head slowly. 'You know I left you just now......' She breaks off and bites her bottom lip, and you wait. 'I left you because I wanted to give you some space. I know you're nervous'. Another pause, and she flashes you a quick, self-deprecating smile. 'And because I didn't want our first time to be on the bathroom floor'.   
  
You take a sharp breath, knowing exactly what she means......that she wants you, no matter what.   
  
She wants you badly enough that sex on the bathroom floor had been a distinct possibility.   
  
'Trust me?'  
  
Her voice is quiet, and you close your eyes for a second. You do trust her. It's instinctive, and you nod, not quite sure enough of yourself to speak. You sense her lean closer, feel the soft brush of her hair against your cheek, and when she speaks again, it's a whisper in your ear that leaves your whole body tingling.   
  
'Relax, then. Trust me to take care of you'.   
  
It's all you wanted to hear.   
  
*******  
  
She kisses you again, gently at first, but it quickly becomes deeper, more passionate, more demanding. And this time you don't hold back. You want to touch her, to tangle your fingers in her hair and run your hands over her body, and you do. You don't bother to suppress the little moans as you follow the line of her cheekbone, down over her neck, her breasts, her hips, and you don't hide the little smile as you feel her shiver at your touch. She feels good.   
  
So good.   
  
But she's in control. She's setting the pace, and it's a slow one.   
  
Tortuously, deliciously slow.   
  
When her lips finally leave yours, your groan of protest is quickly silenced by her mouth dropping to your neck, her hands gently but firmly moving your legs apart so that she can stand in between them and hold you even closer. Tilting your head back to give her better access, you gasp as a hot jolt of arousal shoots all the way down from her lips to that sweet, hot spot in between your legs, and now it's her turn to smile. You feel it against your neck, sense her pleasure at your reaction, and the faint throbbing at your core becomes bit stronger. Without thinking about it, you lift your legs slightly to wrap them around her hips, forcing the nightshirt up even further, and you let your hands drop from her body in order to brace yourself on the table as you lean back slightly. You want those lips everywhere and, as she moves down to the top of your chest, you can't help arching slightly into her kiss. If she would just move a bit lower.......  
  
The soft, throaty chuckle that you hear just heightens your desire.   
  
'Impatient, hmm?'  
  
You whimper as she moves her hands round from your back, and begins to slowly undo the top buttons on the nightshirt. Your breath is already beginning to come in ragged gasps, and the throbbing in between your legs feels like it's spreading all over your body. You have no idea how she can do this, how she can make you come apart so quickly and make you want her - need her - so badly. And frankly, by this point, you don't really care. All that matters are the sensations flooding through you, and that she doesn't stop.   
  
She's undone most of the buttons now, and your eyes flicker open. You want to watch her, and your breath catches in your throat as her hands smooth over your breasts, pushing the top of the nightshirt away as they go. You shift a little so that it doesn't catch around your shoulders, and suddenly your breasts are completely exposed, rising and falling hard with your breathing. Your nipples are already hard, and you see Birgitte's eyes darken to almost black before she leans down, her tongue flicking over first one, and then the other, making you moan as you press up and into her touch. Once again, you close your eyes as her teeth and tongue gently tease you, fighting back the urge to beg her for more as wave after wave of pure pleasure courses through you. You can feel the wetness gathering in between your legs, each dart of her tongue making you hotter and slicker and you wonder if she can feel it, if she knows what she's doing to you, but you don't care if she does. You want to press your body closer to hers, want to feel her against you, to lose yourself completely in her. You've never felt that level of desire before, and it's the most sensual thing you think you've ever experienced.    
  
When she lifts her head, you can't help another whimper.   
  
'Please.....'  
  
You feel her hair brushing against your nipples, feel her breath warm on your neck as she moves up again to murmur softly in your ear,   
  
'I don't think the kitchen table is any better than the bathroom floor'.   
  
********  
  
Somehow - Birgitte isn't quite sure how - you make it through to the bedroom. She's lost her shirt and belt somewhere along the way, and she isn't sure when that happened, either. Maybe when you pinned her against the wall outside the kitchen, and kissed her so deeply that it left her breathless. Or maybe when she paused outside the bathroom, just to look at you for a moment, and you kissed her again with much the same effect.   
  
It doesn't really matter. She'll piece it back together in the morning.   
  
Right now, you're the only thing on her mind.   
  
You feel so good, so perfect underneath her and, as she shifts over to straddle your hips, she begins to wonder just how slow she can take it. Forcing herself to pull back a little, she looks down at you, and feels a wave of desire so strong it's almost overwhelming. With the nightshirt still on, top buttons undone and the bottom of it rumpled up around your waist, she can see the outline of your nipples, still hard from her teasing earlier. She can see the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you return her gaze with darkened eyes, and she knows that, when she finally slips her fingers between your legs, she'll find you hot, and wet, and throbbing.   
  
She doesn't know how long she can hold back.   
  
And, as she leans down to kiss you, she feels you press up against her, wanting her, needing her - and she isn't sure how long you can last, either. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Birgitte, lifting you up  so that she can slip the nightshirt off your shoulders._  
  
 _Her mouth on your breasts, hot, sucking, making you moan and writhe underneath her._  
  
 _Hands roaming down your hips, trailing so tantalisingly close to where you want them - where you need them - before moving back up to your chest and leaving you almost begging._   
  
You shift a little in your sleep, the vague dreams causing you to twist and turn against the pillow, but you don't wake up.   
  
_Your hands are running down Birgitte's body, deftly undoing the button on her jeans before she has a chance to stop you. Your fingers slip inside, encountering delicate lace that's wet and hot, before moving further down, seeking more. There's a slight stiffening in her posture, a small shift as she presses down on your fingers and a soft moan as you graze over the spot where she wants you. It's beautiful. So beautiful, but she's not going to allow you more just yet._  
  
 _She takes hold of your wrists and places them firmly down on the bed, up above your head, so that you're stretched out beneath her....and you feel a sudden, strong jolt of arousal shoot through you at the thought of being totally in her hands. A raised eyebrow silently asks you not to move, to let her give you this without you worrying about pleasing her at the same time, and you nod._  
  
 _You can't do anything else. Your entire body is throbbing, on a sexual edge that's so exquisitely pleasurable it almost becomes pain. You need her. Now._  
  
 _Her hands let go of your wrists and move down your body, exploring every inch as she goes, her lips trailing along behind, making you arch into her and beg properly this time. And finally, when you don't think you can take it any more, you feel her hand in between your legs, one finger trailing almost lazily through hot, wet flesh, and lightly brushing your swollen nub before drawing back, making you gasp and moan. Again and again she teases you, each time with a little more pressure, before that same finger slips inside you and a soft, gentle whisper in your ear tells you to relax, because you're too tight and she doesn't want to hurt you._   
  
A little moan escapes you, your face buried in the pillow. You don't see Birgitte's eyes flicker open, don't feel her hand gently soothe and smooth the hair away from your face, but it calms you. And still, you don't wake up.   
  
_Birgitte's voice soothes you, calms you, brings you down from the heightened sexual frustration that's making you so tense, and another finger slips inside you, curling expertly upwards as you begin to move against her. She's still whispering, but you don't know what. You don't care. You just love the sound, the feel of her breathing against your ear as she brushes your throbbing clit with her thumb, bringing you closer and closer to the strongest, most intense release you've ever experienced._  
  
 _Her free arm slips around you, holding you close as she continues to gently rub and tease you, not wanting to deny you even the tiniest amount of pleasure. And, despite the intensity of your first orgasm, you feel it building again - a deep need that you had no idea was inside you._  
  
 _'I want to taste you'._  
  
 _You know she's asking for permission, but the thought makes you so aroused, so suddenly, that you don't even nod. Instead, the renewed rush of wetness to her fingers, and the slight lifting of your hips against her hand let her know that yes, you want her lips and tongue on you. Sucking, licking, making you cry out and tangle your hands in her hair as you climax once more.....and this time, you have to push her away._  
  
 _'Too sensitive'._  
  
 _She chuckles at your murmured admission._   
  
You don't see Birgitte slowly, carefully, prop herself up on her elbow so that she can look down on you sleeping next to her, her eyes already adjusted to the darkness of the room. You don't realise that the little smile on your face, half-buried in your pillow, makes her smile too and, even though she doesn't want to wake you, the temptation to run her fingers lightly through your hair is too great to ignore. A quiet, contented sound escapes you, because you feel it through the haze of sleep, and it lets you know that she's still there.   
  
_And then it's your turn._  
  
 _You take your time, exploring her body, learning what makes her moan and writhe and beg for more. You tease her nipples just as she did yours, kissing the tiny scar on the side of her breast, and find the spot on her neck that, when kissed, makes her gasp in pleasure. You slip your hand inside her jeans once more before she gives in and pulls them off completely, opening herself up to you and guiding you when you seem unsure. She's hot, and wet, just like you were, and the thought that it's all for you is a powerful one._  
  
 _With your fingers inside her, you discover, for the first time, what it feels like to have another woman come apart in your hands....it feels good._  
  
 _She feels so good, and you love it._   
  
You stir again, your eyes flickering open this time, but you're still too fogged with sleep to wake up properly. You sense Birgitte next to you and, instinctively, you move closer, wanting to feel her, wanting the comfort of her body against yours. You don't know if you've been dreaming, or if you still are dreaming, but it feels good.   
  
You don't see the look on her face as she leans down to press her lips against your upturned cheek. If you had, you would have know that you hadn't been dreaming, and you would have known that you had no need to be worried about what might happen afterwards.   
  
It's a look of tenderness, and care, and warmth.   
  
And it's a look of pure happiness, which Birgitte hasn't felt for a long time.   
  
******  
  
You wake slowly, the world edging its way into your consciousness bit by bit. First comes the sensation of something soft and warm wrapped around you, something that feels like a duvet but doesn't smell like the one you have at home. Breathing deeply, it takes your still-sleepy brain a moment to think of it.......a faint scent of jasmine, and lavender. And it takes you a little longer to remember where you know that scent from.   
  
Birgitte.   
  
Your breath hitches, but you keep your eyes closed. You don't want to open them and find out that actually you are at home, in your own bed, and that the new smell is just the different laundry detergent you bought the other day. You don't want to think that all the flashes of memory, slowly coming back to you as the fog of sleep clears, were just dreams - and that you'll have to go into work as usual, and face Birgitte with those fairly explicit thoughts still in your head. Tentatively, you roll over, and reach out to the other side of the bed.....and find that it's empty.   
  
But it's still warm.   
  
Blinking a little, you open your eyes and peer out from under the duvet. The wooden blinds are still closed, but you can see sunshine around the edges, rays of light that dance their way into the room and fall in narrow beams on the bed. The room is light, feminine, fairly spacious, and definitely not your own. Clutching the duvet to the top of your chest, you take a deep breath and allow a little smile to cross your face.   
  
You hadn't been dreaming after all.   
  
After a pleasant few minutes recalling more of the details - details that are confirmed by the sight of the blue nightshirt abandoned on the floor, along with a pair of jeans and a cream bra - you push back the covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the shirt and pulling it on. You don't know where Birgitte is, but you're guessing the kitchen, and suddenly you're nervous again. The last thing you want is for things to be awkward between you, and you realise that you don't know how to act, or what to say. You don't know what she thinks of you, or of what you did last night. You don't know whether she'll want to see you again or whether she would rather forget the whole thing ever happened. And it's then, chewing your bottom lip and wondering how best to approach it, that you catch sight of the digital clock display on the bedside table.   
  
'Shit!'  
  
You have no idea how you slept so long, or why Birgitte hasn't woken you. You realise that you should already be at work, and that you still have to somehow get home and get a change of clothes, which means that there's no way you'll make it in before mid-morning. All that flashes through your mind in less than a second, and the effort seems to exhaust you. Groaning, you flop back onto the bed and cover your eyes with your hands. Maybe, when you open them again, things will miraculously have sorted themselves out.   
  
'Good morning'.   
  
You open your eyes, and peer through your fingers to see Birgitte nudging the bedroom door open with her foot. She has a cup in each hand, and the welcome smell of strong coffee reaches your nose before you can even see what's in them. She looks gorgeous - the thought enters your head before you can stop it - but it takes you a few seconds to realise that she isn't exactly dressed for work either. In fact, all she's wearing is a grey shirt, in much the same style as your blue one.   
  
'Do you realise what the time is?'  
  
Moving your hands, you prop yourself up on your elbows as you ask the rhetorical question, watching her as she sets the cups down next to the clock. The bed dips slightly as she sits down beside you, one leg curled underneath her and her body twisted so that she can look down at you, and you feel a slight twinge of relief as you see the smile on her face.   
  
'Yes'.   
  
'We're late'.   
  
'I know'.   
  
'Very late'.   
  
'I know'.   
  
'Oh'.   
  
You pause, letting this sink in as you look at her. You can't help thinking that the grey brings out the colour of her eyes - eyes that are now twinkling down at you in amusement.   
  
'I won't give you the sack, if that's what you're worried about'.   
  
'Good'.   
  
She reaches out, her hand warm and soft against your face, and leans down to press her lips lightly against yours. It takes you by surprise a little, but you instinctively respond, closing your eyes and leaning up into the kiss. You forget about work, about being late, and about what excuse you can give to everyone else who'll be waiting for you to arrive. You forget about everything except her. And your earlier worries about any awkwardness between you suddenly seem completely unfounded.   
  
'I actually called Bent earlier, and said that you and I would be working from home today'.   
  
You can feel your eyebrows shooting up almost into your hairline, and you feel like you're about to have a minor panic. Surely she hasn't told Bent that......?  
  
'Relax'. She smiles, a slightly nervous smile this time, and you take a deep breath. 'All I said was that we needed to go over the details of our response to the immigration changes before the TV debate tomorrow, and that I thought it would be best to do that here, with fewer interruptions'.   
  
You blink. Immigration. TV debate....crap, you'd forgotten about that. How could you forget about that? Policy response......you don't have one, not yet. Once again, you groan as you push yourself up to a proper sitting position, crossing your legs on the edge of the bed.   
  
Maybe it would have been better if you had been dreaming, after all.   
  
'You don't have to stay if you don't want to'. Birgitte sounds a little unsure and, when you look at her, she's biting her bottom lip again. You wish she wouldn't. It's almost unbearably sexy, and that is not what you should be thinking about right now. 'But I didn't think it was a good idea to just go back to work and have to pretend that nothing's changed without.....well, you don't have to talk about it either. I just didn't think it was a good idea'.   
  
You look at her blankly for a moment, and then, slowly, you shake your head. It's starting to sink in - bit by bit, word by word - and it chases immigration and TV1 right out of your head.   
  
'Me neither'.   
  
She looks relieved, but still watchful, her eyes on you as you think, and process, and think some more.   
  
You think that she wants you to stay here with her today.   
  
You think that she, like you, doesn't want this to be a one-time thing. She wants there to be a second, and a third, and a fourth time.   
  
And you think that she, like you, wants those other times to start right now.   
  
But you want to know for sure. So you ask, in the only way you can think of without actually speaking....and her response to your kiss tells you everything you need to know.   
  
'How do we make this work?'  
  
Your question is murmured, breathless against her ear, and you feel her shake her head.   
  
'I have no idea'.   
  
You don't say anything else, and neither does she. The coffee goes forgotten on the bedside table as you kiss again - a kiss turning into touching, touching turning into love making. But, in a strange kind of way, her answer reassured you. This is as new for her as it is for you.   
  
You'll have to figure your way through it together. 


End file.
